


All Tied Up

by blacklips (Momma)



Category: Naruto
Genre: Because this is me, F/M, For the sake of smut, Other, Safe Word Use, Vibrating Bodyparts, and because Discord is a terrible yet wonderful place, because duh ninja man, but that is negligible for most of this, have you MET me, his dick vibrates, it's great, let me know if I need more tags, no i'll come out and say it, shibari play, shibari rope, slightly fluffy smut, technically reader (you/me/I) is female, this is smut, you are at the mercy of a shibari master
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-10
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-07-29 03:14:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16255520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Momma/pseuds/blacklips
Summary: I crave the touch of someone who can bring me to me knees. Or, in this case, lift me up beyond even my expectations.





	All Tied Up

**Author's Note:**

> IT IS ALL YOUR FAULT, YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE, YOU THIRSTY, GLORIOUS PEOPLE YOU.

I cannot catch my breath. He is standing there as if unaffected and I kneel here, silken bonds wrapping my arms wrists to elbow in elegant crosses as I lean forward on my planted hands. More rope adorns me, looping around my chest, down the center in the worst tease until it ties to my waist like a corset of deepest red. My legs are bound, a hefty bar spreading my knees as a spider web of ropes decorate the center between ankle and mid thigh. He has me on hands and knees, at his mercy, and he stands there. 

I may die. 

“You are so impatient,” he rumbles, the sound deep enough to make me want to bow to the floor in supplication. He takes up another rope, looping it into a hook set in the ceiling beam. I had not noticed but now that I know what to look for, I am glancing around. There are so many more, neatly ignored if not immediately seen. I feel a moment of apprehension as he secures the line, this one white. It’s thicker than the red by twice, and already he comes to me, stands over me. 

“What a pretty little one,” he near whispers. “I wonder, if you had known what I wanted, would you have come anyway?” 

He kneels then, the soft cotton of his yukata revealing the deep V of his torso, framing a thickly muscled chest. Scars litter the ripples of flesh, small, barely noticeable holes lining his clavicle give away what his clan is, who  _ he _ is. 

I whimper with the ache to touch, to press my hands to his roughened scars alongside such smooth skin. (Un)Fortunately, I don’t have long to contemplate that, to bemoan my body being so bound because he is looping the white through the red in artful plucks, forcing me to kneel upright, hands up, then up as he pulls more. Then up as my legs start to leave the floor, toes scraping the hardwood. I am gasping in almost pain, the strain on my shoulders heavy but not… unbearable. Then, up again, suspending me like the most artful red ribboned fly in the white web of the hungry spider. 

He loops it off, knotting it artfully, properly, before returning with another, this one looping around my torso, hefting me up into a delicate curve that strains my back, that tugs my shoulders, teases my body with whispers of silk wound over me again and again. “Smaller, but flexible,” he notes casually, plucking a nipple almost thoughtfully. I cry out because it’s cool and he is being terribly cruel by giving me the searing heat of his hands and then taking it away. “Sensitive. Much preferred. Why. It is the best condition for this kind of play.” 

Splitting the thick white silk ties, he starts a complicated weave up the center of my chest, brushing the tender flesh there, teasing with heat and obviously laughing at me when I cry out every time he ‘accidentally’ rubs over the hardened nubs of my nipples. He is almost mean with how he enjoys my need at his leisure. Then he and his heat are gone with one tie to one side, the other opposite. He returns just long enough to run a hand down my ribs, over my belly, shifting over the curling hair of my loins before deftly stepping away as if he hadn’t been there at all. Un-fucking-fair, I can cut glass with my nips, man, save me from myself! 

He, of course,  _ does not _ . 

Instead, he walks back to me, the longest silken tie yet in hand. Almost smirking, he slides his now silk covered fingers over my side, my hip, down the crease of my thigh, getting closer to the place I desperately want him to go only for him to ignore that and slide down my inner thigh to the thick bands of his handiwork, the red silk clashing against the white. I snarl, jerking my head around to bare my teeth. He is definitely smirking now, thumb rubbing little circles above the ropes into my thigh, nail scraping just hard enough to make me flinch and try to move closer all in one. Then, he jerks the rope around the center ties, jerking my body with it. I gasp because so much of my skin slides over that soft cotton yukata, against his groin where it is evident that he is very interested. 

“Ah, did the little fly finally notice that I do want your body?” He leans into my space, lays over my body. “Why else would I pretty you up for my pleasure? I have want of your body, to use and tease. This is something I like to do, though not logical in the sense of satiating my needs quickly. I am too like the spider - I want to prolong the end as long as possible.” 

I tremble at the words, spoken low and firm and tense with a deeper, darker hunger. I am not familiar with such and it scares me a little, a thrill teasing my spine like long spidery fingers crawling up my vertebrae one at a time. Liquid heat slaps my core, flushes my loins with heat that will never be quelled with abstinence. I all but whimper when he pulls away, making deft, short work of the ties from mid thigh to knee bar, grabbed the heavy metal and jerking it, jerking  _ me _ up, higher than he should and I feel lust scream within me. He is so strong, so firm and thickly muscled, body broad and hips narrowed. He knows exactly what his show of strength is doing to me. 

Shaking, legs trembling but unable to twist and squirm like I want, I am wholly at his mercy. My toes curl at the first vibration of the white silken rope over the red, again and again, a low tease that has me tossing my head in frustration, in want. By the time he is to my knees, I feel my body tensing for no reason than every movement, every shivering of rope on rope, every tug that sends me swaying is like ghostly fingers over my legs, my waist, my arms. He says something I do not catch, slowly fading out as my head echoes with the sound of blood rushing, my heart beating. I hunger… but patience is seeping into me, making me more pliant the longer he works. 

“Oh,” he pauses to lean over me, his mouth against my ear. “You are finally in the right space for me to do this. I like how hard it is to make you still for me, how difficult it is to make you pliant. Why. Because I like the challenge of making you want me but willing to allow me my liberties when I prefer.” 

His bearded chin scrapes down my neck, tickles over my clavicle as he places his teeth on the edge of my jaw. Moving lower to suck and nibble my artery, as if reminding me how defenseless I am here. How he has all the power. “I am glad that I will be able to do anything to you… after working so hard to gain such trust. Why. Because we both shall enjoy this.” 

He pulls away and I cry out, lost and alone, suspended until there is nothing but space around me and the dark ceiling. I hear a metallic click, the rope being pulled and I am rising, my hips tilting, my knees tipping above my head. My weight shifts, the pull on my waist and shoulders not slacking so much as redistributing. My hips sudden have more weight, my thighs and knees feeling the pull. My calves dangle in a bend, my ankles swinging in my lucid, relaxed state that isn’t fully all there. But there is touch, there is the rustle of sound, there is weight as I am finally left in suspension, gently lifted as my head tips down in a shallow angle. I can see incense smoke, can see pale cream shoji splashed in vibrantly colored floral designs. I can taste my  _ desperation.  _

“Do you remember your word?” he says into my skin, against the soft silk of ropes on my legs, breath a heavy wet cloud of heat. 

“S… Sparrow,” I manage, voice a low croon as my fingers flex uselessly. My toes curl as I close my eyes, the world a haze of sensations. An approving hum is my answer, one large, hot hand taking my foot in hand and gently squeezing. It is almost loving, a tender gesture of someone concerned. It is a live wire to my opened, delicate senses. 

“Good. Why,” he murmurs, voice dropping low enough to nearly vibrate against my skin. A rush of air escapes me, not a gasp but close. He chuffs in amusement. “Because… Now, we begin.” 

I am not given time to adjust to his comment, casual as can be from him. Oh no, he takes me and he sets out to destroy me. My legs are pressed up, my feet high above my head, hooked to a part of the low ceiling to keep them out of the way. The feel of cool wood and cold metal against my toes is a shock, my body flinching and gently swaying like a pendulum. His hands, like soft fire, slide from my ankles to my calves, rope splitting the slide into moments of need, into anticipation. He presses his mouth to the stretches of bared skin, teeth nipping parts of me I would never have thought sensitive and eliciting my full, hungered attention. 

Flesh, rope, flesh, rope,  _ flesh _ … I whimper, feeling too much and not nearly enough. I try to arch and cannot. I try to kick out, to twist, to  _ move _ , and I can _ not _ . 

His hand snakes out, firm, flat, creating heat when he strikes the soft flesh of my bum. 

It is too much too fast and I shriek. “SPARROW,  _ SPARROW _ !” I am trembling, my body shaking and flexing. I was not ready and I cannot stop that I let out a sob. It was too much input after such a long build up. The sting itself is light but the overwhelming intensity is something that is making me want to cry. “Sorry, sorry, I’m so sorry!” 

Soft, hot hands touch my face, one wiping at my cheeks, the other pressing my hair back. “Sh, shh, shhhh, little one. All is well. Why. Because you did what you were supposed to. I am proud of you.” I whimper for a far different reason now, turning my face into his palm. He rubs my cheek, down my side. “It was too much. Forgive me, I had become caught up.” 

I shudder out a breath, turning my face to his hand and laying a kiss on the palm. Just below that is a ring of silver tipped holes that remind me more of a flute than of human flesh. I know what is beneath his skin and it had intrigued me. Now… I am invested in the man. How have we gotten here? “I’m sorry.” 

He is calm, his hand on my side rubbing slow circles. “It is of no fault of your own. Come now, little fly, are you ready to try again?” 

I talk a breath, long and slow. The vivid intensity is gone now, the sting little more than a faint memory. I breathe again, long and slow and heavy in my chest. “Okay.” 

He does not ask again, believing me to know my own mind. He presses a kiss to my brow, a gentle, loving gesture that I practically lap up. I sigh, closing my eyes in trust. Because he  _ stopped _ . He stopped and made sure I am okay and he came to me and sought my comforting, made me feel safe. I can trust someone like that. A slow smile parts my lips, his eyes on mine like lasers. He makes me feel safe and good and that is best feeling. 

He starts again, slow, hands sliding from my body to tease my fingers, trace the lines of my palms. He is silent beyond the low thrum of his hive and the soft hums he makes as I react favorably. His mouth teases over the exposed vein in my wrist, teeth nibbling, mouth closing on the soft flesh to leave a deep purple mark as he works down my forearms to my elbows. I had not been aware just how easy it is to make me whimper and cry with just the flat of broad, calloused thumbs rubbing the tender junction of my arms. I don’t quite moan but a low hum crawls from my chest, drips from my lips as they open to take in more air. He seems pleased by this and rewards me by pressing a chaste kiss to my brow. 

“Very good, little fly. I like to hear you. Why. Because it lets me know you enjoy this.” 

Who the hell would not enjoy  _ this _ ? Whoever said the Aburame were cold were  _ out of their minds _ . I gasp as he changes his attention from my arms to my chest, mouth closing over my nipple. Tongue laving the flesh clamped between gentle teeth that tugged and pressed, lips caressing the soft skin there more like petals of a flower than anything of warm flesh. I cry out, my skin pebbling up in gooseflesh. It’s too much and just right. Then he seals his mouth to my nipple, suckling and I loose all my breath, my body jerking with the non-motion of my arm trying to come down, to pull him in, closer. I cannot and I feel real anger at my inability. Then… it is gone as pleasure flushes through me, his hands sliding down to my hips, back up to cup my chest, one thumb and forefinger twisting and flicking and pulling my other neglected nub. I arch as best I can, mouth open on little dribbles of crooning, encouraging sounds. 

He lifts his head, breath blowing over the tip and I moan long and loud, the feeling of the tense flesh becoming even more so, drawing tighter than ever before. He chuckles low and hot into my skin, nipping the middle before going to the other nipple. I feel my eyes roll - I have been played with for so long already and now I’m entirely at his every mercy and I feel pulled too tight and yet like I haven’t quite reached the end. My belly heats up, boiling over into my blood like bubbles, light and airy and with every pop, there is just that little bit more need. 

So when he finally pulls away, my nipples sharp enough to cut glass, I give him the best wanton moan I can manage, too relaxed after such careful handling. He doesn’t smile, but the gentle tip of his lips is enough to make joy flutter through me. “Please,” I finally whisper, “Please, Sh… Shibi-sama.” 

He pets my hair, brushes his palm along my jaw, down my neck. Then his hands press down my body, rope-skin-rope-skin-rope-skin. Fingers teasing the edge of the red corset of rope, he splays his hand, turning it so his fingers are arrowed down my torso. He slides down, the tips of his fingers catching and curling in the hair there, tugging gently before he fully cups my mons with his big, broad hand. His thumb caresses my thigh crease, his middle finger teasing the outermost lips of my mound as the others press and plump my sex. I shiver and flinch in a good way, my ankles jerking at the hook, the ropes unmoving. He presses down with index and ring fingers, pulling me open to the slippery touch of his middle. 

Slippery? 

His other hand had left me and now I know where it went. A bottle is in said missing hand, drizzling clear slick fluid over his fingers, over me, and dripping on the floor below. I shouldn’t feel so aroused that I would be making such a mess yet I am thoroughly invested in making some kind of mark on this man. But not before he makes several on me it would seem. Now that I’m calm, that I’ve come down a little, he seems to think that it is now time to really play. 

His teeth sink into the outside of my thigh, close to my hip and painful, but tempered by the fact that his middle finger is sliding like a furnace set on turtle speed over my clitoral hood, slow and aching and terribly hot. The heat of him is exceptional and I crave it so much. His hands are even hotter than my core, making me gasp and flutter around his finger. Lifting his head from his mark, he stows the capped bottle and rubs the smooth skin of my hip, my bum. He pops it, sharp and stinging, but not painful nor overwhelming like last time. I make a noise that is probably more neutral than happy but he seems pleased all the same. He strikes at the other side while pressing on my clit, bringing conflicting sensations, a noise of confused arousal leaving my throat. He does it again… and this time his finger…  _ vibrates _ . 

I go stiff as a board for a long moment before shuddering, my breath leaving in a groan, my head falling back entirely as my thighs flex and tense. It’s like I’m being pushed into an orgasm, forced to the edge. He smack, smack, smacks my bum, warming it up and leaving me squirming from and toward him, each fall of the hand a new sting, but the intense feeling of his finger  _ fucking vibrating _ an intense push to the top. I get so close I taste my orgasm, hover there for several long moments and almost tip over… 

Only to be denied. 

He removes his hands. He  _ removes. His. Hands. _ And steps back. I pant and clench uselessly, unable to do anything to get off. That utter bastard. I laugh a little, amusement and joy trembling on my lips because he had promised me a night I would never forget and he is living up to his claims and we haven’t even gotten to the real sex. I can’t stop my hilarity until he runs his fingers in tickling patterns over my torso, down my thighs. That is when I shriek, going from laughter to choked giggles. He ceases tickling so much as caressing, my giggles giving way to moans. I’m still hungry for my orgasm and yet I am… not as concerned about the end. 

But maybe I damn well should be. 

He steps further back, a smile ghosting over his lips. He plucks up a feather from somewhere, firm and lightly scented of lavender and rubbing infuriatingly over my inner thighs. Lighter than fingers but firm enough to be infuriating. “Not fair,” I whine. “Pleassssse, Shibi-sama…” 

He actually chuckles, rubbing the feather over my slit, smearing lubrication among curls and tender skin. He twists just enough with that demented feather to slip it in between my lips that feel a little too sensitive after the vibrating to be stood, but stand it I must. He flicks it, the thick strands catching on my lips. Oh. I feel my eyes clench tight enough to make spots linger behind my lids, the feeling of the feather oddly thrilling. He teases me, brushing hard enough to slip with effort between the plump outer labia only to flick and tickle and tease, pressing up to my clit then down to my clenching entrance. When I finally turn to him with a low thrum in my throat, almost a declaration of war, he turns to my nipples… to repeat the process, wiping clear fluid over the peaks. 

Not that he minds, apparently. 

He leans in, taking my nipple into his mouth, humming as he suckles. Cleaning me, licking as he pulls back to follow the glistening trail to my other one. And that stupid feather is back, tangling in curly hair on my mons, teasing as he uses his other hand to spread me. It’s barely there brushing against my erect clit, my legs starting to shake with over stimulation. He pulls as he suckles on my nipples, releasing me to flick his tongue for a moment. Hot-hot mouth to cool air. I cry out a little, clit being tortured and clenching on nothing. 

He hums as he starts to move his mouth down my body, teeth scraping, tongue teasing, lips sealing over the larger diamond of skin available and leaving his mark as he makes a bruise bloom like a flower. He bites hard over my hip, hand holding me as he drops the feather to leave bruises on my thigh. Letting my hip go, he reaches up to the rope tied to my legs, the pulley turning soundlessly as he pulls.My body is hoisted higher, my loins suddenly high enough that all he has to do is lean forward and my vulva is in his face. He loops the rope in his hand to a hook, hands coming down on me as soon as he is finished. Broad, hot palms skim down my thighs from rope to hips. With my knees splayed so wantonly, all he has to do is wrap his arms around my legs, my waist, and press hot, scalding kisses over my inner thighs, my curls. 

Fuck, is he really? 

One hand comes around my leg to place his fingers on my mons, pulling my plump lips apart to allow him to see everything. I probably should feel embarrassed or horrified, but I am so ramped up, I want to curl my legs around his head and not let him up for air. His tongue, broad and wet, swipes in a flat streak from hole to clit. He gives a little rumbly sound that is almost a moan. 

“I can taste your pheromones,” he says almost casually except his face is in my loins and he has just licked me like an ice cream cone. “They are very sweet. You must eat many fruits.” He licks me again, dipping into my hole that clenches around the muscle uselessly. “I like it.” 

I take a moment to take that in. Memo, me, eat fruit daily for the rest of my life. 

He hums low, glancing at me. Dark brown eyes look me over, taking in where he has left marks, the scratch of his beard leaving reddened skin, his teeth indenting my flesh and slowly turning purple-black, the sight of  the hickeys, the bruises of his fingertips. He seems pleased. Then he ducks his head from my view which isn’t hard with me angled so hard up. “I am going to eat you now,” he intones, calm and smooth. “But you cannot have your orgasm yet, little fly.” 

Then he really sets to do as he says, tongue tracing every corner of my lips, my clit, the hungry clenching channel that I really, really,  _ really _ want him to fill. I feel like I am on  _ fire _ , my body trembling and my breath gasping and all that heat concentrated between my thighs. He slurps in a highly undignified way and it should not be that hot that he is getting absolutely filthy messy, but it is me he’s getting filthy with and I feel it like a punch to the gut, all air leaving me. He’s getting dirty and his face sticky with me. This nigh untouchable man, prim, proper, collected to his very toes, is wilfully placing his head between my thighs and eating me out. My toes curl the longer he laps me up until I am so sopping wet, I feel like I could literally drip. I have never been so wet in my life. 

He seems to chuckle, just a little, at all the sounds I make. Then he breathes hot and teasing before he laps up my clit, flicking it once or twice. I make the most obscene noises, literally shaking apart at the seams, it damn near feels like. Then he tucks it into his mouth and sucks and I near come out of my skin, the wordless shout I give echoing as he hums. He seems thrilled by this and presses his tongue to my clit firmly. I would wonder what he was waiting on butfor the fact that, apparently, it is not just his fingers that fucking vibrate. His tongue.  _ Vibrates _ .  _ His tongue vibrates _ . 

I scream. I have never been so loud in my life and I cannot believe this lusty, husky sexual sounding beast is me. My chest heaves, my body nearly paralyzed as an orgasm sweeps from my toes to my head, curling like white hot lightning. Before I can actually finish tipping over, before I can actually realize my end, he steps away, visibly licking his lips, his face wet and sloppy with me. I roar with a sudden rage. I was  _ so close _ ! SO CLOSE! And he stopped! That fucking  _ bastard _ … 

He takes the time to grab a cloth and clean his face… only after drawing a finger over my slit to suckle my juices from the digit. It’s too much of a tease and I feel frustration well up, tears prickling at my eyes. I’m aching with the need to be filled, literally aching. But he does little more than stand there, cleaning his face, face barely flushed as I hang nearly upside-down in suspension. 

“S-shibi-sama,” I mutter, voice catching on a sound that isn’t quite a sob. I’m so close and this time I cannot seem to come back from the edge. My skin is too hot, my body shaking and it feels like my nerves are pinching and prickling beneath my skin. The bites and hickeys and bruises don’t even hurt, they just seem to pull at my skin as if it were too small, like I am stretched too tight in those areas. 

The hot hand on my hip is enough to jolt me, to make me flinch and whimper, skin like a pool with a livewire just beneath the surface. 

“Hush now, little fly. We are not done yet. You are hungered, you are engorged on pleasure… Now, I think you should taste something else.” 

He deliberately pushed me to this point. Has left me needy and crying and says he did it on  _ purpose _ . 

I snarl at him, angry that he went about this and didn’t give me a heads up as a courtesy. I cannot be left like this. I can _ not _ . If I had my hand free, I would be smacking him upside the head. This is not right nor kind nor fair and bedroom antics are supposed to be  _ fair _ . He just smirks, reaching up to undo the hook that brought me up, lowering me to be almost perfectly flat. Within a few seconds, I’m secure again and he is fiddling off to the side with something. I can barely breathe for the need and fury in my blood, boiling under my fragile flesh. 

Then I turn at the rough sound of a match being lit. In his hand is a small square candle, maybe the length of his longest finger and the wick catches terribly fast. It doesn’t take long for the golden wax to start melting and holds it over me. “This may sting, but it should not hurt.” 

Then the first drop drips onto my belly, the sudden influx of heat making me cry out, my stomach flexing. It almost hurt. Almost. Instead, as high as I am, it feels like his own hands on me, my body wanting it and skittering away from it because this is hot wax. Being deliberately poured over my skin. He hums as he dribbles more up, some catching on rope but most over the surface of my body as if painting a canvas. Each drop stings just enough to hurt, but not enough to make it uncomfortable. At least, until he gets to my nipples. I hiss at the first drop, flinching away. Shibi murmurs something under his breath, too low for me to hear, but he stops for a moment. 

Long, firm hands slide over my belly to disturb the wax, down to my mons. His fingers part my slit, two of them teasing my inner lips as they flutter and flex, my voice choking up. Further up my body, he pours wax over my nipple. He slides his fingers into me with a wet squelch down below. The dichotomy of the wax pouring over my nipple against his fingers finally entering me is enough to make me arch despite the restraints, my voice choking out as I silently scream. 

“Oh. Very good,” he praises, angling his fingers. They hit up as he dribbles more wax, pressing into what I suspect is my G-spot. It hurts and it doesn’t. “I can keep you tightly wound this way. Why. Because I want you mindless.” 

He is going to get that. Probably too easily. 

Mostly because I am already there. 

I whimper a little, unable to breathe, body a mess as I try and close my thighs on his hand. I cannot, there is a spreader bar at my knees, but the urge is so strong that it causes me to start crying when I am unable to. He pays no mind, switching to the other nipple, more wax, more of his fingers thrusting up inside. The stoic man seems to say something but the rush of blood in my ears drowns it out. Shibi-sama seems to not mind as he leans in to press a kiss to my brow. That’s when he  _ does it _ . His fingers start vibrate inside my body and I scream bloody murder as I am held on the threshold of eternity, wax falling without end over my ribs and rope and belly. Over my clavicle and down the middle of my chest. Some even gets so close as to drip into the hair of my loins. 

The man above me seems to view me like a living sculpture, tilting his head just that little bit until he is able to see all of me in the right light at the most correct angle. Seeing what he likes, he brings the candle close to blow it out. He drops it with little fanfare, gold spilling from it on the way down. 

That’s when I become aware of a slow dripping sound. It’s close to us and I would crane my head around to look, but I am bow tight, sitting on an orgasm strong enough to make me blackout from sheer pleasure if I am finally allowed to find it. 

But his fingers stop and his hand retracts and I sob, large and ugly and frustrated. Shibi-sama croons low and tender, one hand coming up to my face. “Hush, little fly. We are almost there. Patience, hmm? I am almost ready to destroy your expectations from here on out.” 

Oh. Oh fuck. Oh little gods. 

Kami-sama, please, be kind to my perverted soul. 

That is when he raises his hand. It glistens, the fluid on it steadily dripping in time to another slow plip-plop of drips. “You are wonderfully responsive. I may have to keep you. Why. Because I enjoy such true feedback.” 

I feel like melting into the floor. Should I be proud? Should I be embarrassed? I do not know. I’m flustered as it is, feeling my warm face go supernova. Why is he showing my reactions? Does it really please him so much? It doesn’t matter, tears sliding from my eyes. “Shi-Shibi-sama,” I whimper. “Please, please, please,  _ please _ , Shibi-sama!” 

He tips his lips up into a not-smile, pulling my bum to his hips. “Of course, little fly.” 

I barely manage not to cry. Finally. Fucking  _ finally.  _

It takes the fit man but moments to drop his yukata, puddling in a mess on the floor. For someone so meticulous, the very idea of him not taking time to hang or to fold his clothes seems ridiculous. In all actuality, the sheer amount of need he is exuding suddenly is more than enough to make me want to curl up and lay out all at once. Having that kind of attention zeroed in on me is terrifying and amazing. Watching him pick up a small towel to dry his hand is kind of oddly stimulating too, because he made a mess with me and seems reluctant to clean up. He takes a deep breath, eyes dilating until only the pupil is able to be seen in a sea of white. Thick lashes look like dark fans pressed to his skin, framing the depth of lust in his eyes. I feel my breath wheeze out on a low whine. 

Oh fuck, I really actually factually might die. 

Please, I’m so ready. 

Hot, firm hands slide up my legs, teasing between rope and bar. The man is calm, cool, collected despite the bar of molten steel I feel against my thigh that is in actuality his dick. He looks at me, my body feeling the trace of his eyes even as he gently unhooks my ankles, brings them over his shoulder. My heart quickens even harder, my body trembling. Please please please  _ please _ … 

“Little fly,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to a bit of easy flesh. “You have three options.” 

I swallow. What? Why? 

“I can use you, brand you with my essence so deeply that not even another can mistake you for anyone else’s… I can use a condom… or I can make do and we can entertain ourselves with intercrural past times.” He leans in, my legs holding him in place with the white rope. “My everlasting wish is to brand you.” 

Holy fucking shit, that should not be as powerful and enticing as that is. 

“Um…  _ pregnancy _ ?” I ask, a little scared and freaked out because, haha,  _ civilian _ . That shit does not fly half so gracefully for me as it would for a shinobi. But also really, really not minding the idea because, ahem,  _ exibit A _ ,  _ me tied up right now _ . 

The man looks me over, burning me with his gaze. “Worry not, little fly. Your pheromones tell me exactly where you are in your cycle. Until we decide or come to an accord of mutual benefit, I will not compromise your integrity.” 

I shudder. Shit. He can  _ tell _ ? I feel everything below the waist near tingle in awareness. “ _ Oh fuck yes _ ,  _ please _ .” 

We had talked this over… but this hadn’t been touched much. He had explained a bit of his abilities, just enough to intrigue, and he had assured me that if it was too much, he would step back. He had been kind, considerate, had basically held my hand through the initial steps of figuring out if we were compatible. And now…  _ now _ , he is basically handing me a type of  _ want _ I had not been fully aware of without strings attached. I would be fucking insane to turn him down. He was,  _ is _ a man of his word. For a shinobi, he has such  _ integrity _ . It is reassuring. 

So him telling me this… it is only truth. 

He looks at me with eyes like burning touches, fingers like coals as they crawl up to my ankles. Ropes fall away with the kind of ease I will never know of my own hands. My legs become lax over his shoulder, eyes tracking him releasing the bar at my knees before he tosses it to the side. White silk flutters away and I suddenly realize that it is multiple parts artfully knotted to make one long strand. Careful, practical. Really  _ fucking hot _ , he can take me down in pieces. In this case, literally. 

Heavy hands rub over my knees for a moment, his gaze taking me in carefully. He must be happy with what he sees because he continues, fingers tickling a little as he slowly, gently, teasingly starts down my thighs. I giggle a bit, my belly tightening and my body crying out with the need screaming under my skin. I gasp, muscles fluttering hungrily as they clench and shift on nothing and I decide that laughing when this aroused is either the  _ worst idea ever _ or  _ oh yes please _ . Or maybe a bit of both because I’m wound so hard, I must be letting off sparks. The hot hands to my flesh expertly part threads of red silk, the pieces falling to the floor, and I count them to keep my mind. 

Suddenly, my legs are framing his thick hips with broad palms holding my outer thighs, muscle moving like roiling waves under his scarred skin against my own, gooseflesh rising on my thighs and up my body. I beg with my body as my breath leaves me entirely, arching as much as I can, calves pressing into the top of his firm, rounded ass I had contemplated more than once bouncing a stack of coins off of. 

This is a much better use of that kind of time. 

His cock sits cradled between our bodies, hot and literally throbbing. I realize suddenly: he has had to wait as long as I have… if not  _ longer _ . I feel like I should be upset. I can’t feel more than  _ want, need, please _ . He looks at me, across the heaving ribs as I gasp for breath, across my trembling belly, and  _ smirks _ . I almost fucking  _ swoon _ , okay? 

That’s when he pulls back, his cock dragging over my mons, and I notice the thick black band around the base. He. Has. Fucking… that smirky, handsome bastard has his dick and balls strapped. Oh. Oh fucking hell, he… what does he have in mind? Should I be afraid? 

_ Yes _ , I really should. 

He positions himself, making sure I’m ready, which  _ no shit _ , and pushing all the in on one stroke. Normally, that would hurt. With as wet and prepped and ready as I am, it is the best drawn out almost-orgasm I have ever had. Above me, my head trapped by my arms, I can feel Shibi twitching. This is the first time he has moved without conscious thought and I turn bleary eyes up. Oh. 

He just had a dry orgasm. 

Fuck. I clench without meaning to and he actually makes a low sound, his eyes clenching tight enough that I can see his eyelids discolor. His mouth is slack and his fingers tremble a little as he silently gasps over me. Then, after a moment, he settles back with a slow ragged breath. 

Is it possible to be more turned on than before? Because if so, I really,  _ really am _ . 

Full with a very slight burn of stretch, I feel more content to watch him come undone because of me than I ever thought I would. That orgasm is but a few good minutes away helps. 

“W-well,” I stutter on a gasp, “that’s- _ ha _ , great for y-you… b-but…” I clench and he makes a gut-punched sound that is visceral and hungry. Fuck. Fuck fuck  _ fuck _ . “You h-have to wor-rk on m-me!” 

He rumbles, the sound amused and too low to be considered a chuckle. He thrusts, his hips almost meeting mine as he bottoms out. I had no idea he would be this big. That is  _ not _ a complaint, I assure, because I am going to happily cry and scream my way into oblivion on this dick. 

Shibi allows his hands to caress my hips, my buttocks. I pull him as close as I can stand with my legs, heels digging into the top of his pert, round ass, and tighten every muscles I can around him. He makes a noise, hands going tight against my flesh, fingers curling to leave bruises in my bum. He swivels, rolling in me and I feel my eyes roll in my head, beyond the ability to speak or see or do anything other than feel and make helpless little needy sounds. He then gets down to some serious business: namely, fucking me senseless. 

He slides out, slow and languid and all the physical lies because he wants this as hard and fast as I do and he is D-E-N-Y- _ ing _ us both. I feel as if I could cry, I am hurting with my need that he has made in me. And he seems content to make me suffer. Slow in, slower out, slow in, slow out, over and over again until I feel tears prick my eyes, my body straining uselessly, my mouth open to gasp and sob. 

“Such a magnificent creature you are, little fly,” he grunts, voice strained and tight. “I think a reward is needed.” He places a finger to my clit and all at once my world is lit up like a supernova as he makes it vibrate. 

I scream, high and shrill, quick to taper off as I loose all the breath in me and strain with an orgasm so strong that I white out. I can’t seem to catch my breath and he doesn’t give me much room to do so, going from slow liquid to boiling froth. In-out, the feel of his balls slapping the underside of my mound a barely there tap with my legs locked up around him and his finger not letting up. In-out, faster, in-out,  _ harder _ , the eye of his cock slamming into my cervix and it probably should have hurt but very much  _ did not _ . I have never come so hard or so long, my body shaking as if I suffered from cold and not from a heat so hot that I just cannot breathe. 

Shibi seems thrilled and masculine proud and dangerous, because his hunger has yet to be satiated. He presses I right and hard, my thighs against his hips, my bum cradled in the deep V of his loins. “Try not to pass out,” he advises. “I want you to experience everything. Why. Because I am  _ selfish _ .” 

I am going to die. 

Because his dick  _ vibrates _ . 

Like that word is a switch, it comes alive inside me. I struggle from too much, screaming and whimpering as if I am dying. He gives no attention to this, pushing me harder, higher and I feel the edges of my vision gray even as I am tilting into my first ever second orgasm. I make no sound, unable to breathe, throat clicking, lungs wheezing. I doubt I would have, had I the breath to do so. There is no way to describe what it is like, take a muscle already tight and making it tighter, winding it up ever more, only to release it in a fashion that would have me on the floor in a literal puddle had I not been suspended and tied. 

Shibi doesn’t seem to mind my languid, loose form, taking pride even as he uses me for hard, almost harsh thrusts. I barely do more than croon a low sound, the insides of my body fluttering weakly on his every thrust, feeling him throb with the severe sensitivity I am experiencing. I would pull away, turn from this but as I am, bound and fucking drooling from so much sensation, I have to take it. This man, this virile, dangerous, sensual sex god is a demanding being, gladly ruining me. 

That is when the most un-fucking-expected thing starts to happen. I feel my body opening up for a  _ third orgasm _ . 

There is no way. That is a legend, a late night, girl’s night  _ myth _ . Two orgasms are damn near mythological, spoken of in reverence. Three would be something out of a fantasy novel. I am living a fantasy novel sex scene. How is this my life. 

How can I keep living it? 

“Wh-what?” I ask aloud, my eyes locking with his. He grins, full on, too many teeth to be anything but predatory. “ _ What _ ?” 

I am bounced, each harsh slap of hips to hips making my toes curl and curl and tense. This is not possible, especially for me. Except. Apparently, it is. Since  _ when? _ I gain my voice, my throat tender and husky as I start making the most obscene sounds. My spine literally tingles, my ribs too from where they are connected. My arms are near floating, my belly quivering as my legs flinch and bend up all around him. He takes one leg, throws it over his shoulder, and holds me tight with both hands, leaning over me as he bites a bruise into one breast. He moves his hands, sliding in, placing his thumbs close to my clit, fingers digging into the tops of my thighs, palms heavy weights were they rest. His thumbs starting vibrating, one on either side of the abused, tender, aroused hood of my clitoris until I am all but thrashing, voice rising in a scream. 

That’s about the time I notice how close I am to my third, my loins slick and messy and tightening so hard I feel almost like I am cramping. He tips his thumbs over, pressing hard and I feel like I am coming apart. The orgasm rips through me, hard and tight and almost painful it’s so good. He removes one hand, reaching between us and I hear a snap on the edge of my senses, feel the flick of his fingers against me. I barely do more than stare dazedly as he tucks me close and rumbles a low roar as I feel him twitch and move inside me. A wash of liquid heat fills me, teases me with  _ maybes _ and  _ one days _ . 

I don’t remember much after that. I don’t… I do not  _ pass out _ but I float in a slow, soft world. I feel hot hands gently let me down, waist and arms, the bite of the red falling away gently, sweetly. I remember arms that shake ever so slightly holding me safe and cuddles to a warm chest that breathed too hard. I remember a calloused hand wiping my hair from my face. 

I come back to myself, curled with a furnace behind me, arm around my waist as Shibi holds me, pressing little nipping kisses to my neck, surely leaving marks across my shoulders and spine. I make an inquiring noise, blinking at the traditional shoji wall, a variety of jeweled insects and flowers creeping up from the bottom to the ceiling. 

“Finally back with us?” 

I make an affirmative sound, snuggling back into the man behind me. I can’t feel my legs and that is alright. I can’t feel a lot of things including how sore I surely am. He says something low and rumbly and I am unable to make it out yet I shiver with the sound. Wow, I am  _ sensitive.  _

“Sleep, little fly. I will awake you in the morning.” 

Sighing, I let my eyes close. Sure sure. If I could even walk. 

If not, he was so carrying me home. 

**Author's Note:**

> [Naughty Adult Discord](https://discord.gg/93gGNDY)


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